When words weren't enough
by xDreamInTechnicolourx
Summary: ‘Because when words weren’t enough, there were roses, and roses remind me of him, that he once loved me…’ Miley reflects on the Niley relationship and how easily Nick moves on. Niley oneshot/Miley-support.


**Disclaimer: I own nothing…**

**A/N: Okay, so I am thinking of doing only Niley stories and various friendship stories because Niley is probably the couple I feel most strongly, though I'm not sure yet :D Also, during the first part of the story, Miley is in serious denial – especially when she talks about her feelings towards Nick and Selena. Technically this story is legal as well. What's more is that I DO NOT HATE SELENA OR NICK SO PLEASE DON'T SPAM ME!!!**

**Summary: 'because when words weren't enough, there were roses, and roses remind me of him, that he once loved me…' Miley reflects on the Niley relationship and how easily Nick moves on. Niley oneshot/Miley-support.**

**Miley's POV:**

"What a jerk," Demi whispered as her silky, deep-brown-almost-black hair tickled my right cheek. I was hardly paying attention though, I was too busy standing there, staring, completely motionless, at the horrific sight before me.

Just to confirm, despite what Demi says, I am completely, totally, one hundred percent over Nick Grey. Heck, it isn't even possible for a girl to be more over a guy than I am over Nick. So, you can understand, that the fact that I was upset had nothing to do with the fact that the sight before me was a romantic exchange between Nick and Selena. Nothing to do with that whatsoever. The reason I was upset was because of the item that was being exchanged. Roses. Yes, roses as in the flower. As in mine and Nick's flower. As in the flower that brought us together, that built our relationship up and that kept it lasting for so long. The exact same flower that had so much history with Nick and I, was currently being given to Miss Slutlena Hoemez, (just to warn you: the only reason I call her Slutlena Hoemez is because she stole my boyfriend which technically makes her a slut, it's not like I have a dartboard with her face on it, or like I pray regularly to the Buddha for her death to be slow and painful. I don't do that. Seriously). All I'm saying is that, haven't I suffered enough when he wrote a song about roses and dedicated it to Slutlena (once again, the nickname is merely a technical term for people of her nature – no malice involved); or that the two of them are the main gossip of every blogging site and teen magazine in the whole of U.S.A? Does he really have to go and give her the only thing that's special to both of us, and our last chance of rebuilding our relationship? Not that I'd get back together with him anyway, even if he got down on his knees and begged, I'd still say no.

Every year, ever since we were thirteen years old, Nick would always give me roses for any special occasion. Whether it was my birthday, Valentines day, Christmas, Easter, if I was about to make an appearance on TV, perform in front of a huge audience, weddings, funerals, discos, or even if he just felt like giving me one. However, the point was, that Nick Grey would always give me a rose to symbolize that he loved me, and that I was the only important girl in his life (besides his mom, of course). What's more is that Nick always gave me a different rose for each different occasion, for each different event, for each and every different thing he wanted to say to me. They say actions speak louder than words: well, for Nick and I, roses speak louder than all.

When it was my birthday, Nick would always get me a purple rose, purple because it was my favourite colour and because Nick said it brought out my eyes. I never really understood how purple enhanced my eyes, (which, just for the record, were a deep sea blue), but I was so happy that, he could have said that the colour purple made me look ten feet tall for all the difference it made. Purple also signified royalty, he always told me that I deserved to be treated like a princess on my birthday – and, even if I wasn't, I still felt like a princess as long as he was there. It sounds overrated and cliché, but it was true.

Every time I was about to make a huge appearance on national (or in some cases, international) TV, or if I was about to perform a concert or host an awards show – Nick would always manage to slip a single pink rose into my dressing room. It was meant to show support, and portray the fact that he was right there, behind me, always supporting me, always on my side, whenever I needed it. I guess even roses lie. That single pink rose gave me faith in myself, because if he could believe in me, then I certainly could believe in myself – even now, when he no longer believes in me, or us, I still have enough dignity to carry on.

Whenever it was Christmas, he would give me a white rose, to show how pure and perfect I was, and how he always wanted me to stay as innocent as I was back then, and to never let anyone hurt me. I spray painted all of my white roses, because they were tainted with heartbreak now, they were ruined, they'd lost their grace, their innocence, their perfection. It's ironic how they lost it all to little Miss perfect herself (Slutlena Hoemez).

Valentines day was always filled with red roses. Usually Nick kept it quite simple on the flower front – one rose per each occasion, (he didn't even break this rule when it was my birthday). However, every Valentines day I was swamped with flowers. With roses. It's funny, but every flower Nick got me was a rose – never once did he buy me an Orchid, or a Lily, or even a Tulip. It didn't matter though, because roses were our thing and I wouldn't have wanted it to be any other way. It seems like Nick doesn't know the meaning of 'our' anymore, it seems like Nick doesn't even know me anymore. Anyway, Nick would really splash out when it came to Valentines day: I remember, back when we were Disney Channel's golden couple, I woke up on Valentines day morning only to find that my entire bedroom had been decorated with roses. Hundreds of them lined my bed, decorated my chairs and covered my floor and wallpaper until both were invisible; it was like I was living inside a rose myself. Though, my favourite part of my newly decorated room was the edge of my bed, where Nick, himself, sat, clutching a bouquet of red roses. I realized then that it didn't matter where I was, as long as Nick was right there beside me, I was happy; he was my rose. It turns out that, even the most gorgeous of roses, have thorns.

Whenever I was sick, which was a lot more often than most people would expect, Nick would always send me a yellow rose – it was supposed to cheer me up and inspire me to get better. It was supposed to represent him when he couldn't be there to visit me, it was supposed to brighten up my day. Now I know why the colour of puke is yellow.

When my cat 'Miley Ray junior' (go ahead and laugh at his name), died, Nick offered me a black rose – to symbolize sorrow and forgiveness. We placed it on MRJ (Miley Ray junior)'s grave and stood there in silence. He told me that every time he gave me a black rose, it was to tell me he was truly sorry. I didn't bother telling him that I'd forgive him no matter what, I was too depressed about MRJ to really take much notice – I wonder if it'd have made a difference, now. It's ironic how every time he accidentally stood on my toe, called me a nasty name or was late for one of our dates, he always gave me a black rose, as if he'd performed the biggest sin on Earth. However, the one time he really hurt me, when he actually broke me – he didn't even send me a single black petal, not one single sign of sorrow. If I'm being well and truly honest, that hurt more than anything he ever did, the fact that he didn't even regret it – that it didn't keep him awake at night, that it didn't even bother him. That was much more painful than the actions themselves.

We didn't just see roses as easy ways out of difficult situations, cliché methods to manipulate the other into doing whatever we wanted; roses were a way for us to communicate when words didn't do justice. When words weren't enough. Subconsciously, we still hurt each other, even months after the break up, because we still communicate with each other through roses, even if we don't mean to. The way Nick is giving Slutlena that bouquet of red roses, with a single white rose in the middle, says more than any empty threat, any cheesy excuse and any gossip article.

I slid out my phone from my Nordstrom skinny jeans and dialed the all too familiar number, before pressing the receiver to my ear.

"Hello, welcome to Feelings'n'Flowers, how may I help you?" The all too chirpy voice of some sugar-high teenage girl was a reality shock to me, quickly, I blinked myself back into focus before replying to the assistant – I made sure my voice was extremely low, I didn't want anyone, especially Nick, hearing my private conversation.

"I would like to order one blue rose, please" I said, my voice sounding extremely frail and raspy.

"Sure! Would you like it to be wrapped and have a special message attached?" The girl continued obliviously, still on sugar-high, I suppose.

"No," I answered immediately. I didn't even need to waste one single second of thought on the answer to both of those questions – never once when Nick gave me a rose was it packaged, 'it needs to be naked for you to recognize it's true beauty.' Nick had explained, when he had given me my first rose – it was purple, and in memory of my thirteenth birthday, I actually had it frozen, so that I could stare at it over and over again. I had all of my roses frozen – because, even roses wilt and die eventually, and I want mine to last forever. Because they remind me of Nick, they remind me of the fact that he was there, that he once loved me.

As for the message issue, the colour blue means: remorse, regret and heartbreak. I doubt Nick will need a message to know who it's from.


End file.
